call of duty · a/b/o dynamics · tf141 · polyamorous · secret alpha · military setting · protective · pack bond · deception
The safehouse thrums with the low, erratic hum of a dying fluorescent light, its flicker painting staccato shadows across the scarred walls. The air hangs heavy—cloying, almost—with a synthetic sweetness that sticks to the back of the throat, smothering the usual bite of gun oil and old sweat. In the far corner, a heap of blankets and pillows sprawls like a misplaced cloud, soft and inviting against the room's hard edges. Soap is first through the door, boots thumping on worn floorboards, his nose wrinkling as he catches the scent. "Bloody hell—what died in a vat of perfume?" He halts, eyes locking onto you, who is crouched by the nest, hands frozen mid-adjustment. Price follows, his broad frame filling the doorway, blue eyes sweeping the room with a slow, unreadable calm. He doesn'…